


Planning Makes Perfect

by mekana47



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Abduction, Competency, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, M/M, POV Outsider, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekana47/pseuds/mekana47
Summary: “Actually…” Ferguson looks down at the photo for the first time and trails a finger across the man’s clean-shaven jaw. “Grab this one too. If they’re sleeping together, he may be useful to get the target to talk.”-or-Bernard is an excellent art thief. Trying to abduct and interrogate two grown men for a scorned, micromanaging CEO who keeps undermining his perfect plan? He may be a little out of his depth.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 53
Kudos: 460





	Planning Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so feel free to point out any typos or utter nonsense.

Bernard jumps when his cellphone chimes. He’s spent the last three days staring at a laptop on a fold-down table in the back of an old delivery van. Only one person would be texting him right now. 

He digs the phone out of the bag near his feet and glowers at the simple, _I’m here. Let me in._

The number’s blocked, but it can only be the man who hired him for this job. Unfortunately, that means he can’t ignore it. 

He unlatches the van’s back door and lets it swing open just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Ferguson catches the edge and hauls it open wider, climbing in like it’s not a big deal for a man in a full suit to be climbing into the back of a delivery van only a block away from their target’s location. It may be early morning, but it’s an unnecessary risk and Bernard has to remind himself how badly he needs the payout. 

He wouldn’t have risked taking a job this physical otherwise.

The door’s barely shut when Ferguson demands, “Why haven’t you grabbed him yet? I expected him two days ago.”

Bernard pulls on the cold persona that scares his usual clients into letting him do heists his way, the proper way. “Come see.”

He gestures to the live feed of the AirBNB rental they’ve been watching. The laptop screen shows little with the curtains half-drawn, but he switches to the infrared feed. A large orange splotch glows from the middle of the screen, where the bed takes up most of the picture.

“He hasn’t left the house in the three days we’ve been watching, and—” Bernard ghosts his finger over the screen to highlight three separate green lines— “neither has his companion.”

“Is it one of the others?” Ferguson leans close to the screen like he might be able to discern an identity from the infrared.

As Bernard shuffles through one of the paper files on the table, he forcibly reminds himself that being the CEO of a chemical company doesn’t mean the man has to understand science or technology.

He holds out the printed photo of the young man who’s been holed up with their target. “No, it’s not the man from the files.”

Ferguson takes the photo and waves it through the air as he asks, “A local? A civilian?”

“Nothing’s turned up on facial recognition,” Bernard shrugs. That’s not uncommon with the databases he’s been searching, and the photo— the best one they’ve managed to get from the camera strapped to a telephone pole across the street— barely catches a quarter of the man’s face. 

“It doesn’t matter. Deliver the target to the annex building by noon, or I will find someone who will, understand?”

“Understood,” Bernard says through gritted teeth. 

Ferguson had hired four trained professionals to fill out Bernard’s team and make the actual grab. It had seemed excessive during the planning, but now that they’re on a time crunch, he feels a little better for having them. 

“Actually…” Ferguson looks down at the photo for the first time and trails a finger across the man’s clean-shaven jaw. “Grab this one too. If they’re sleeping together, he may be useful to get the target to talk.”

Bernard very carefully keeps his face blank. An extra target to grab in broad daylight with a new time pressure? A target who could just be an extended hookup or a holiday fling for all he knows. There will be hell to pay if Ferguson doesn’t compensate him for taking two, but that’s a problem for later.

“And keep them alive, yes?” Ferguson says like he’s talking to a child.

“Of course.” Bernard keeps his voice flat and cold, but Ferguson merely drops the photo on the table and turns to leave.

“Noon,” he says, as if Bernard had already forgotten, and then he’s gone.

Bernard’s definitely getting back into art theft after this job. The clients may be just as condescending, but at least they’re willing to defer to his expertise.

Two new parking spots and ninety minutes later, the townhouse’s front door opens.

Bernard scrambles for his radio and holds it to his mouth, but he waits. Planning is where he thrives. It doesn’t matter which target it is, now that they’re apparently taking both of them. 

“We have movement,” the head of Alpha team says, late.

Bernard shakes his head. If he’d even considered working with any of this team again, that slip would’ve changed his mind. “Beta team, in position?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the men responds.

The companion steps outside, laughing and twisting back to say something to the man still inside. He’s taller than Bernard expected.

“Alpha has eyes on both targets.”

The primary target steps outside, grinning and tugging the door closed behind him.

Good. 

Grabbing them both outside risks exposure, but it’s less dangerous than trying to infiltrate and abduct in a space he only knows from the few photos on the listing.

The targets fall into step, arms brushing as they converse. Bernard will never admit it aloud, but maybe Ferguson had a point about being able to leverage one against the other. 

“Beta team,” Bernard says, “move into position two blocks west and await my mark.”

“Yes, sir.” Two voices chirp. 

Bernard can’t catch the team on camera, but he trusts them to be casual as they wander to the new position. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he toggles through surveillance cameras and closed-circuit systems to watch the targets. This job had gotten so much easier when people started willingly putting cameras in their own doorbells.

At the first intersection, the targets turn down a side street so narrow it’s nearly an alley. It pops out near a little bakery. They must’ve finally run out of food.

“Both teams, move in.”

He doesn’t bother to watch his teams work. Instead, he stashes his laptop and files, slinging the bag over his shoulder, and folds the table into the wall. He rushes into the front seat and makes quick work of driving down the block and backing halfway into the side street, blocking the view for most of the surrounding homes.

As Bernard steps out of the van, he shrugs a jacket over his holster and notes his plan went perfectly. Alpha team stand a few paces from the end of the van and beta team wait at the far side of the alley. All four of his men have their guns trained on the targets.

The targets stand apart almost against one of the brick walls, unmoving. Their arms lifted away from their sides in supplication, but they are speaking a language Bernard has no chance of even recognizing. He’s always been terrible at languages.

As he approaches, some small part of Bernard is annoyed that the main target isn’t trying to shield the other man. 

“Shut up,” he says, a little gruffer than he’d intended. 

The primary target says something else, but then they fall silent.

The companion meets Bernard’s gaze. He’s not as young as the surveillance had made him seem, but he’s still of little concern to their team as long as he doesn’t cause a scene. The primary target is clearly a pro, taking in every detail about his men and their guns, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to make a move against four guns. 

Thieves tend to back down quickly when faced with real danger.

“Cuff the primary target,” Bernard orders, and one of alpha team hands his weapon to the other and steps forward.

The companion’s brow furrows briefly, but neither of them move. With the primary target’s hands cuffed in front of him, the alpha man steps back.

“Cuff him as well.” Bernard fights the urge to frown. He’d thought that was implied.

The companion says something in that other language even as the alpha man approaches.

The realization hits Bernard like yet another complication he doesn’t need on this ridiculous job. “Does he speak English?”

The companion says something else, but his face is blank. He’d be a lot more afraid if he understood what was happening here. He probably didn’t even know he was sleeping with someone CEOs were willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money to capture, and now Bernard has to threaten him. Wonderful.

“You’re the one we need alive,” Bernard tells the primary target, and the anger on the man’s face helps Bernard slip back into his role. This is a dangerous man who infiltrated a company and stole valuable secrets, and Bernard is cleaning up the mess he made. “Keep him calm, and we might not have to hurt him.”

The primary target doesn’t look away from him, even as he says something in that other language. The companion makes an indecipherable noise, but his expression hasn’t changed. It’s unnerving. 

“Get them in the van.”

“Joe?” the companion says clearly, and the primary target—Joe—responds, probably letting him know what’s happening. 

Letting them talk when he can’t understand them could be a dangerous concession, but Bernard doesn’t want to escalate to violence just yet. He strolls toward the driver’s seat, trusting his team to get them in the back. He has a message to send to Ferguson.

Fifteen minutes later, Bernard backs the van down one of the loading docks of Ferguson’s company’s annex. His nerves twist at the brazenness of doing this on a weekday morning, but Ferguson had promised this building was no longer in use, and the lone guard was on a different post for the week.

When he opens the van doors, the two targets turn as one to stare at him from their positions pressed against the divider to the main cabin. It does nothing to settle his nerves. 

“Bring them,” Bernard orders, stepping aside. 

His four men rise from their positions scattered between the targets and the door. Two of them pull guns. One reaches for the companion’s bound arms, but the man shies away, pressing against the divider and sliding to his feet with a surprising amount of grace. The guard doesn’t say anything but gestures for him to walk forward.

“Don’t even think about screaming,” Bernard warns Joe, because it feels like the right thing to say. “We’re all alone out here.”

Joe doesn’t answer, but he stands and waits for his own gesture to start walking.

Bernard punches the code into the exterior door and leads them through a barren warehouse and into the main sector. The building is eerily silent as he leads them through the hallways on the course Ferguson had given him. His stomach doesn’t settle as they pass abandoned labs, their dusty equipment easily visible through the large glass windows lining either side of the long corridor.

All he can do is hope it unsettles Joe as much as it does him.

Eventually, they reach the room Ferguson chose: a fairly large carpeted room with only a few dated chairs scattered around the perimeter. Bernard punches another code into the panel and holds the door open for the others.

He checks the door has latched before he says, “Secure them.”

He doesn’t see what happens, but the companion practically yelps as he hits the glass wall face first, his hands trapped between his body and the wall. 

“Hey,” Joe shouts, taking a half-step toward them.

A gun presses to the companion’s skull, and everyone stills.

“I’m cooperating. Don’t hurt him.” Joe looks like he’s going to be sick, but he takes two slow steps away from the confrontation and his eyes dart to Bernard’s. “Where do you want me?”

“Far wall,” Bernard orders, curious.

Joe takes another step backwards before turning. He settles in one of the far chairs and even slumps to seem more harmless, but he stays locked on his companion instead of the threats in the room. 

“Nicky?”

The companion—Nicky, apparently—says a word, maybe two, in that other language, but he’s smart enough to keep still.

Joe doesn’t seem to notice as three men undo his handcuffs, feed his arms through the arms of the chair and around the back, and reattach the cuffs.

“Keep cooperating and you’ll both be fine,” Bernard says, but his tone isn’t as reassuring as he was aiming for. He’s never been a good liar. There’s a small chance Ferguson might let a civilian go, but there’s almost no chance Joe survives this. 

It’s unfortunate, but Bernard’s had time to suppress that guilt.

The man with Nicky steps away. Nicky takes a cautious glance over his shoulder at him, then Bernard. Bernard cocks his head toward Joe and the chair one of the others has set up beside him. Nicky obeys the silent order, and they have him secured even quicker.

His team holster their guns, two men moving closer to the door while the other two take up positions beside each target. A knot in Bernard’s shoulder releases and he breathes easier. There are more moving parts in abductions than art heists, but he’s willing to compromise his standards and call this a success.

He walks down the middle of the room, pausing equally distant from his two captives.

“Tell me,” he starts, ensuring he has both of their attention even if only one understands him, “where are the rest of your team?”

“Which team?” Joe asks, and the man beside him shifts like he wants to hit someone.

Maybe that’s a fair question, if Joe’s freelance. Still, Bernard spreads his arms wide to encompass the room. “You raid so many chemical companies lately that you don’t recognize which one you’re in?”

Joe cocks his head and waits, not admitting to anything. It’s the first sign of resistance, and it’s almost welcome. This is how these situations are supposed to go.

“We have you on camera. Three of you, raiding a facility five days ago.”

Joe grimaces.

“So,” Bernard crosses his arms over his chest, casual, comfortable in this role, “who are the other two and where can we find them?”

Still no answer. 

Bernard flicks his eyes to the man standing beside Nicky and ticks his head up. The man smirks and rams his fist into Nicky’s gut.

Nicky shouts and crumples, curved in on himself as best he can with his arms trapped in such a defenseless position. His head stays tipped forward as he pants.

Joe jerks once like he wants to cross the space but settles again quickly. “I don’t know.”

Bernard twists his lips, making a show of debating whether or not to believe him. 

Joe shakes his head. “I don’t. We were hired individually. I’d never met them before the job. They didn’t give any names, not even obviously fake ones, and then after, we scattered.”

“Which one of you took the hard drive?”

“She did.”

Bernard hums. “So the other two skipped town and you decided to stick around in your little love nest instead of bailing too?”

Joe looks sheepish. “Hiding in plain sight usually works well for me, and if he’d managed to knock out all the cameras like he was supposed to, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”

“Sounds like you don’t like him much. Unprofessional?”

Joe snorts. “Let’s just say if I knew anything about him or where I thought he’d gone, I wouldn’t hesitate to sell him out. He had a French accent,” Joe offers, “sounded kind of fake though?”

Nicky makes an pained sound, but he hasn’t moved. He’s probably never been hit like that before.

Bernard taps his fingers on his elbow. In his admittedly very limited experience, captives don’t give information so freely so quickly. Sure, people turn on their teams all the time. Bernard’s been nearly burned twice, and Joe clearly has no loyalty to this team, but shouldn’t there be more bargaining? 

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know,” Joe says. “I can tell you how I was first contacted, but I never had any contact beyond the message to hire me and the payment. It’s possible one of the others did? I truly do not know.”

Bernard considers him for a long moment before turning his gaze on Nicky.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Joe says, giving up his weak spot so easily. It’d be simple to destroy this man, but that isn’t why Bernard was hired. He’s here for the abduction and to get information.

“What else do you want to know?” Joe asks. The desperation in his voice is almost enough to make Bernard regret grabbing both of them, but this is no space for regrets, and if Joe survives this, he’ll have learned a valuable lesson about their line of work.

“Your loyalty is so easily swayed? You’re willing to give up any reputation you might have? For him?”

Joe doesn’t answer straight away, and Bernard shifts to study him. There’s a debate waging on his face, but Bernard’s in no hurry.

Nicky says something, and Joe’s mouth twitches before he says simply, “Yes.”

A tap on the glass nearly makes Bernard jump, but he manages to keep his face blank as he turns. Even Ferguson’s gestures are sharp and demanding, and Bernard’s half-tempted to ignore him, but he is the client and his captives aren’t going anywhere.

“Watch them,” he orders the room at large and strides into the hallway out of the view through the window.

“What do you have?” Ferguson demands as soon as the door shuts.

“His name’s Joe,” Bernard reports. “He says he hasn’t worked with that team before, they didn’t give names, they scattered, and he only received one message from whoever hired him. The woman took the hard drive, so it’s possible she had more contact.”

Ferguson slams his fist into his own thigh. “So, nothing. You have nothing.”

Bernard stiffens. “He says he doesn’t know, and I believe him.”

“Of course he’s lying.”

“He’s been talkative,” Bernard insists. “I’m thinking we couldn’t find anything on him because he’s new to the game, so he doesn’t have anything to hide, though it does seem he truly wants to protect Nicky, the other man.”

“Does he know anything?”

Bernard can’t hold back his snort. “He doesn’t speak English.”

“What a mess,” Ferguson mutters.

Bernard bristles. It is a bit of a mess, but he’s done his part well despite Ferguson’s demands, and it’s not like he can create new information where there is none. “We can get the message from him and the information about the payment, it might lead to—”

“Might?”

Bernard snaps his mouth shut, takes a slow breath, and says, coldly, “It hasn’t been long. I’ll keep leaning on him, see if his story changes or he suddenly ‘remembers’ something new.”

“Hurry up about it.” Ferguson waves him off like he’s some brainless thug to be ordered around instead of one of the most sought-after thieves in the world.

Someone shouts from the other room, and Bernard clenches his fists. He couldn’t even step outside without one of the men probably getting bored and taking a cheap shot at Nicky. 

Something crashes and Bernard takes two steps forward to look through the window.

Nicky’s standing in front of his tipped over chair, holding the man who was supposed to be watching him against his chest in a one-armed chokehold. 

“Shit!” Bernard shouts, but it’s lost in the sounds of the other men’s shouts as they scramble for their guns.

Nicky’s quicker, pulling the gun from his hostage’s holster and firing three times, taking out the men around the room without blinking. The bodies drop with clean headshots even as Nicky’s turning the gun on his captive and firing without hesitation. He lets the body slide from his arms in a crumpled pile on the floor, and Bernard realizes their mistake far too late.

“Ferguson,” he says slowly as Joe rises, unrestrained, to stand beside his lover. “When you made those files on the team who did the break in, did you check if they had a sniper across the street?”

Ferguson chokes on nothing, and Bernard almost wants to see his face but he doesn’t dare look away from Nicky. He ought to start running or preparing to make a standoff, but he’s clearly in over his head, has been from the beginning if he’s honest with himself. His best bet now’s to sell out Ferguson and hope they let him live long enough not to make this foolish mistake again.

On the other side of the glass, Joe steals a gun off a body and the two of them move in tandem toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Ferguson shouts.

Bernard pulls his handgun from its holster at the small of his back and sets it on the floor. He takes a step away from it and holds out his arms just as their hostages breach the door. 

Nicky comes through first, gun already aimed at Bernard’s forehead, but he doesn’t fire. Joe waits in the doorway, gun raised but clearly letting Nicky take the lead.

“I think we need to talk,” Nicky says in perfect, accented English.

Bernard frowns but lets the weariness leak onto his face. “Okay.”

Ferguson makes an affronted noise, but Bernard ignores him. There’s danger in the way Nicky holds the gun, absolutely confident that he’s in control, and Bernard will not risk his wrath for an unimportant fool or a payday that certainly isn’t coming now.

If Ferguson gets himself killed, that’s on him. 

Nicky speaks that other language, and Joe responds, lowering his stolen gun a few centimeters.

“We’ll be fine here,” Nicky says in English, all danger and power in a way none of the hired men could have pulled off, even as he lowers his gun to aim at the floor.

Joe turns and jogs to the second intersection before disappearing from sight.

Ferguson takes a sharp step forward. “What do you think—?” 

Nicky blinks, so calm that Bernard focuses even harder on keeping perfectly still. “Mr. Ferguson, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Ferguson splutters, but Bernard’s busy trying to slot the pieces of the morning into place. It’s clear now that these two wanted to get caught. Why they wanted this situation doesn’t really concern him. Ferguson and his company can burn to the ground for all he cares, but his professional pride is wounded for missing something important.

“You saw him,” Bernard says, and then shrinks back. He hadn’t meant to draw attention to himself, but Nicky just hums a question. “This morning.”

Nicky’s mouth quirks like he’s almost proud of him for managing to figure out this much, and the condescension stings more than Ferguson’s micromanaging had. He had apparently missed counter-surveillance, though.

“What’s your plan?” Ferguson demands all bluster again. “I am a very powerful man, you can’t just kill me, and I won’t forget your faces, any of the four of you.”

“Powerful people disappear all the time.”

A chill goes up Bernard’s spine, but he knows it’s true. Ferguson, who’s been intentionally dumping chemicals in poor and marginalized areas while lobbying the government to lower restrictions and penalties, could be nothing more than a headline for a day or two and then forgotten entirely.

Ferguson snarls, “You have no proof. Everything the media says about me is a lie to peddle their so-called news shows to as many eyeballs as they can get.”

Nicky’s brow furrows. “You mean, the hard drive we took the other day was only emails and not the data from your lab tests? The data that shows exactly how much you knew? You kept that off-site?”

Bernard’s stomach roils as the last piece of the puzzle slots into place. He’d led them right into the facility where lab tests must have been conducted. Ferguson had demanded this location, but Bernard had been confident enough not to question it. Somehow Nicky and Joe must’ve known they’d be brought straight here, and Ferguson would be here too. 

It’s too tidy to be a coincidence, and Bernard’s curious how they pulled it off, even if he doesn’t dare ask.

Joe appears at one of the intersections, a bag casually slung over one arm. Nicky’s attention doesn’t waver, but Ferguson must see it as his last chance for a distraction.

“I have money!”

“So do I,” Nicky says, confused. “There’s less blood on mine.”

Ferguson visibly flounders, and Bernard clings to that reaction. If he’s going to die, he’s glad he’s seen someone stand up to Ferguson’s power trip. He just wishes he’d done it first. 

Ferguson’s eyes dart down to the gun at Bernard’s feet, blatant and reckless.

“For once in your life,” Bernard says, “don’t be that stupid.”

Ferguson lunges across the floor, uncoordinated in his suit, but Bernard kicks the gun, sending it skittering down the hall past Nicky. Joe steps over it without breaking his stride, only pausing once he’s next to Nicky.

“You!” Ferguson shouts up at Bernard, struggling to stand. “I will have you ruined for this. You’ll wish you were dead when I’ve finished with you. Your whole family, anyone who’s ever known you—”

Nicky seems calm as he uses that other language. Joe responds, setting the bag gently on the floor. He crosses the distance and pulls out the gun he’d taken before. Bernard freezes, but he only slams the butt into the back of Ferguson’s head. 

Ferguson crumples, finally silent, sprawled across the linoleum.

Bernard looks up slowly, taking a steadying breath as he meets Nicky’s gaze.

“Did you know the men on your team?” Nicky asks.

Bernard frowns. “No. Ferguson said he’d hired them for this job.”

Joe snorts. “They’re on his payroll. Witness intimidation, data tampering, a few suspicious ‘accidents,’ most of which seem to have taken place in this suddenly empty building. They hired you to be the fall guy if this went wrong.”

“Maybe even if it went right,” Nicky adds.

Bernard’s vision wobbles, and he takes the risk to step closer to the wall, one arm out straight to hold him upright.

“You have a choice to make, Mr. Fisher.”

Bernard swallows roughly, not even surprised anymore that they know more about him than they should. “I’m listening.” He hopes he sounds honest and willing. 

“Good,” Nicky says before a blow catches him across the back of the head. He isn’t awake long enough to hit the floor.

“We’ve got a live one,” someone yells.

Bernard groans as pain slams into his head, and one of his eyes refuses to open. The other waters as he blinks straight up at the fluorescent lights.

“Easy now,” the man says gently. “It’s just dried blood. Wait for the medic to clean it up. Can you tell me your name?”

Bernard blinks again and flicks his good eye around the room. He’s back in the conference room, handcuffed to a chair that’s lying flat on the floor. The police officer crouched in front of him blocks his view of the rest of the room.

“Sir?” the officer presses.

Bernard groans and closes his eyes, going limp, as he tries to parse the situation. Joe and Nicky left him to get caught, but restrained as he is, the officer is treating him like a victim. 

And there’s his choice, he realizes. 

He can either incriminate himself in the conspiracy to hide everything Ferguson’s been doing or the slaughter that’s gone on today, or he might be able to come out as a slightly suspicious victim. Maybe he can claim he was caught investigating?

Either way his days in the shadows are probably over, but only one choice feels like a second chance.

Someone moves at his side, and something wet sweeps across his eyelid, then his forehead.

“Sir,” a new voice says, and Bernard struggles to focus on the medic. “Can you tell me where you’re injured? What hurts?”

“Just…” he says with added breathiness. “Just my head, I think?”

“Ok,” the medic says. “We’ll take you in for a head scan to be safe, okay?”

“Are they gone?” he asks, and it’s hardly any effort at all to start trembling, exhaustion from the job and adrenaline from facing his own mortality have worn him down.

The medic glances to the officer who says, “You’re safe now.”

Bernard sags and is ashamed to feel his eyes start burning, but he doesn’t fight the tears. It’s a good show. “Thank God. I thought…”

When he falls silent, the medic holds up a neck brace. “Let me get this on you as a precaution, then we’ll see about those handcuffs.” 

Bernard closes his eyes and lets the medical team do whatever they want with his body. There’s no use having a plan here, and they seem fine to let him drift as long as he rouses when they ask. Eventually, someone slides the chair away, and he gets rolled onto a backboard.

His breath catches as the first strap tightens around his chest. The first medic catches his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s all precautions, I promise. We’ll get you out of here in no time.”

“Okay,” Bernard agrees, shaky, and doesn’t complain as the other straps are secured or when he’s lifted onto a gurney.

“Let me know if you’re going to throw up,” the medic says before the gurney starts moving, and Bernard has to stare at the ceiling to keep the nausea at bay. Maybe he was hit harder than he’d thought.

At the loading dock, the medic halts the gurney and steps back. The other two medics move to take his place. “You two can take him from here?”

Bernard’s tries to look at him, but he can barely make out the man’s face at this angle and distance. “You’re not coming?”

“They need me here.”

Bernard swallows. It makes sense, maybe, with the dead bodies and whatever state Ferguson was in, assuming he’s even still here. The gurney’s halfway out the door when the medic calls, “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands now, Mr. Fisher.”

Camera flashes steal his vision and make him think he may actually throw up, so it’s a moment before he jolts.

The medic had used his name.

As he’s lifted into the back of the ambulance, dangerously close to sleep, he tries to deny the obvious.

They can infiltrate anywhere. They’ll be watching him, and the supposed Frenchman’s accent really isn’t that bad.


End file.
